And Maybe, the Gods Aren't Always Right
by TackAttack
Summary: 'Never in all her 2500 years has she met anyone like this impertinent son of Poseidon.'


**I do not own PJO.**

**Odds**

* * *

Never in all her 2500 years has she met anyone like this impertinent son of Poseidon.

Of course, no one is quite like Poseidon, but she has grown accustomed to the rough inhaling and exhaling of the ocean, the sudden fierce storms, the illusions the waves can bring. The moon is somewhat like that, ever changing, the only difference being the set pattern, the ritual that it follows. That she follows. She's used to the oath being in place, the solid leather reins that keep the eldest gods from having demigod children. Now, with it broken, with a daughter of Zeus, a son of Poseidon, and what she has sneaking suspicion are a son and daughter of Hades, the fine balance has been disrupted.

She holds her resentment for the eldest gods. The demigod children are not to blame.

Zoë knows, though. Of course her most trusted confidant knows of the unsettled feeling that she cannot seem to shake.

Maybe that's why Zoë is so quick to anger when he's pinned underneath her weight, green eyes shattered with loss, staring at Artemis and demanding to know who she thinks she is.

She considers this. She can sense the overwhelming sense of loss, a black hole, that's just opened in his soul. She empathizes with it. She remembers the feeling, when Orion was murdered by her own hand. She can hear no edge to his words, no disrespect, simply pain and loss fueling his words. S

he stops Zoë, summons the words. "I am Artemis. Goddess of the Hunt." Confusion floods his features, and his rather unintelligent response is, "Um…okay?" _Boys_.

Artemis' attention is drawn to the olive skinned girl with the baseball cap pulled low over her thick black hair, hopelessly confused by the entire situation. She feels it necessary to help this half-blood understand and believe the truth. Even Percy can sympathize, given the way he tries to help her, even as he struggles with his internal battle.

And then, with pure male stupidity, tries to drag her to Camp Half-Blood, calling it the only place for demigods, the only safe place, a complete lie. Artemis surveys the emotional place of the group, deciding that it's strung thin enough that a stop is necessary. Percy must not go after Annabeth. And Bianca is a potential recruit.

* * *

She watches from the safety of the tent as the children of the Big Three fight in the snow, watches Thalia shout at Percy, a cold tear trickling down her scratched face, hands bunched into fists, watches Percy's jaw clench, ready to retaliate, watches him look down and catch a glimpse of a tattered piece of blue cloth laying trampled in the snow.

All the fight comes out of him in a rush, and he reaches to pick it up as Thalia turns on her heel and storms off. He stares at it for a minute, then tucks it carefully in his pocket. He stands and glares at the snow. Guilt sparkles in his eyes.

* * *

When he steps inside the tent, she can see his eyes widen as he takes in the luscious interior of the tent. His gaze traverses the room, eventually settling on Bella. He's obviously startled at the live deer that rests in her lap. Most of her Hunters were, before it became second nature to them. They've become especially used to the jack lopes most insolent boys who lay eyes on her Hunt become.

He seems unsure of himself, his hands fluttering around at his sides, a side effect of the ADHD.

"Join us," she clarifies, gesturing at the ground, inviting him to sit in the circle she, Bianca, and Zoe have become.

He seats himself, still watching his surroundings like they might come alive any second. She doesn't blame him. She's itching to change his shape, throw him out, or worse, but she restrains. She has more self-control than her fellow Olympians.

He focuses on her, studying her form curiously.

She would blast him into tiny dust particles, but she restrains. "Are you surprised by my age?" she asks.

He nods. "A little."

"I could appear as a grown woman, or a blazing fire, or anything else I want, but this is what I prefer. This is the average age of my Hunters, and all the young maidens for whom I am patron, before they go astray."

Confusion blooms across his features. "Go astray?"

"Grow up. Become smitten with boys. Become silly, preoccupied, insecure. Forget themselves."

"Oh." A very intelligent answer for a very intelligent person. She's never met anyone like this. Ever.

She can sense Zoe shifting with pent up rage for this male being in camp, much less in Artemis' very own tent.

She subtly shifts and brushes Zoë's arm, calming her slightly, even if the anger still bubbles just beneath the surface.

"You must forgive my Hunters if they do not welcome you. It is very rare that we would have boys in this camp. Boys are usually forbidden to have any contact with the Hunters. The last one to see this camp…Zoë, which one was it?"

"The boy in Colorado," Zoë says stiffly. "You turned him into a jack lope." She can see his eyes widen again. Good. He needs to be a little afraid.

"Ah. Yes. I enjoy making jack lopes. At any rate, Percy, I've asked you here so that you might tell me more of the manticore. Bianca has reported some of the more…mmm…disturbing things the monster said. But she may not have understood them. I'd like to hear them from you."

She closely watches his facial expression while he's talking. The moon is the master of the not apparently obvious, and she is no exception. Slight fear, confusion, and pain flit across his face in quick succession. But she's looking for the deeper clues, the signs of who he is as a person. Not everyone can see these very small clues. To her, they are as clear as day. Stubbornness is buried deep into the crevices of his face. Loyalty shines from the scars that mar his body. Impulsiveness peeks out above the mop of unruly black hair. Pride turns his bones to metal. His fatal flaw radiates from his skin. Passion is written into his skin cells. When she looks into his eyes, she sees a fiery storm of courage that only a true hero is capable of. Maybe she was wrong about him. But she'll hold out a little longer before making up her mind.

* * *

She strains against the weight of the sky, watching the battle happen around her with growing frustration. Sweat trickles down her forehead.

Percy, the ever foolish male, charges Atlas. She watches him fight and fail. He ends up on his back next to her.

"Run boy!" She hisses through her teeth.

He looks at her like a puzzle piece has just been fit into place. Then he says the three words she never expected to hear.

"Give me the sky."

She's reeling mentally with the force of what he asked of her. "No! You don't know what you're asking. It will crush you."

"Annabeth took it!" he protests.

"She barely survived. She had the spirit of a true huntress. You will not last so long."

"I'll die anyway," he says stubbornly. "Give me the weight of the sky!"

He doesn't wait for her protest, simply slipping into the vortex and shouldering the weight. She rolls free and attacks the Titan, leading him back towards the groaning boy.

Even with the crushing weight, he has the presence of mind to let go when the Titan comes flying backwards, trapping Atlas under his old burden.

Percy collapses to the ground, eyes open, watching the last of the battles, Thalia and Luke.

Something tugs on the back of her mind, the way it always does when a Hunter is injured. Zoë. She dashes to Zoë's side.

He recovers enough to pull Thalia back from the edge, and then he looks for her.

"Artemis!" he yells.

She looks up at him, face streaked with golden tears, Zoë dying in her arms. They scramble to her side. Concern is etched into every crevice of Percy's face, but he keeps his distance, apparently not wanting to disrespect Zoë's space. She appreciates that.

"Come on," he urges. "She needs some nectar and ambrosia!"

Grief fogs Artemis' mind, only cleared by a crazy mortal man with celestial bronze bullets and a Sopwith Camel.

She calls for her team of reindeer to pull them back to safety.

He's still dazed with pain, a little loopy. "Like Santa's sleigh," he murmurs. "Indeed, young half-blood," she says. "And where do you think that myth came from?"

* * *

She can feel Zoë's spirit departing the second they land. She can feel his frustration that they can't do much.

"Can't you heal her with magic?" he asks. "You _are_ a goddess."

Normally she would be upset at his insolence, but she's too occupied with Zoë.

"Life is a fragile thing, Percy. If the Fates will the string to be cut, there is little I can do. But I can try."

She raises her hand to place it on the angry green wound, mostly to humor him, but Zoë weakly seizes her hand.

"Have I…served thee well?" she whispers.

"With great honor," she whispers. "The finest of my attendants."

Zoë's features soften. "Rest. At last."

"I can try to heal the poison, my brave one," she says softly, already knowing the answer. Percy knows too, by the way he tenses beside her.

Zoë turns to him. "Do you still have the sword, Percy?"

He seems unable to speak, but he gently rests the pen in the palm of her hand.

"You spoke the truth, Percy Jackson," she whispers. "You are nothing like Hercules. I am honored that you carry this sword."

A shudder passes through her.

"Zoë-" he says, but she interrupts him.

"Stars," she says. "I can see the stars, my lady."

"They are beautiful tonight," Artemis says, a tear trickling down her cheek. "Stars," Zoë repeats, and she goes still.

He watches her as she shudders with loss, then cups her hand over Zoë's lifeless mouth and speaks a few words in Ancient Greek. Her sprit flows out in a sliver cloud and she releases it to the stars.

"Let the world honor you, my Huntress," she says softly. "Live forever in the stars."

She sets her hand on Annabeth's shoulder. "You are brave beyond measure, my girl. You will do what is right."

She looks quizzically at Thalia, who has trouble meeting her eyes. Something forces her to look up, and she stares at Artemis, eyes filled with loss. Her heart softens with sympathy for the daughter of Thalia.

Then she looks at Percy, the boy who defeated the odds. "You did well," she says. "For a man."

She thinks that speaks volumes in itself.

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